


Thunderbird Falling

by AddyWritesFic



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Brothers, F/M, Family, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23475064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddyWritesFic/pseuds/AddyWritesFic
Summary: When a tragic accident occurs, the lives of the Tracy family are changed forever.Set post TAG finale.
Relationships: Captain Ridley O'Bannon/John Tracy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: Orion**

“International rescue, we have a situation.”

John’s voice stirred Scott from his sleep. It was day twenty-two of, what Gordon had come to refer to as, _ugh – this is so boring_.

The week’s rescues had been low-risk and safe. Scott wasn’t complaining, it was nice to send his brothers out without the risk of injury, or worse.

“What’s happening John?”

His brother’s hologram expanded, a projection of Earth appearing beside him.

“I picked up a possible distress call from _Orion Spaceport Two_. The GDF is currently managing a tsunami response in Sri Lanka, so I suggest you and Alan get up there and check Orion’s system function.”

“Any idea where I might find Alan?” Scott replied.

“Asleep, apparently. Hold on, I’ll get him to meet you in Thunderbird Three.”

“FAB. See you in Space, John.”

Scott slid into brown leather of Thunderbird Three’s docking station. In the hangar, surrounded by the Thunderbirds, he felt most at ease. No one felt comfortable when they sat idle. While today’s rescue would not be from the comfort of One, at least he was doing something.

It took three minutes for the docking arm to reattach, Alan in tow. The lull in rescues had made his brothers slip into comfortable laziness. Virgil had been composing a new sonata, taking the occasional break to perfect his portrait of Jeff. While Gordon, _ugh – this is so boring_ , Tracy had left to “assist Lady Penelope” yesterday.

“Sorry, I was sleeping.”

Scott smiled, “John said. Did he brief you?”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t leave me alone. Something about a possible distress call from that new spaceport, the one commissioned by the GDF,” Alan replied. He locked his hands with Three’s controls, beginning her launch sequence.

“Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Three, we have an update.”

“Go ahead, John.”

The corners of John’s mouth were turned down, matching his familiar, focused, frown. It gave Scott the disquieting feeling that something was very wrong.

“Orion’s airlocks have begun failing, there seems to be an insulation error. I’ve tracked the crew to the central compartment and Scott,” John brushed a hand through his hair, “Ridley’s on board.”

Scott made a small, pained, sound; beside him, Alan had cleared the atmosphere.

Neither of them was unaware of John and Ridley’s _friendship_. It was the perpetual elephant in the room and, in most cases, only brought up by a very drunk Gordon.

“She’s got a habit of getting into trouble, John.”

“I know. That’s a discussion for later. Please, just save her,” John replied.

Ahead, the one-hundred-metre-long, gold-plated, _Orion_ , hung like a skewed crowbar among the stars. It had obviously been designed to maximise the number of ships that could dock simultaneously. Why the GDF needed a shimmering, golden, spaceport? Scott wasn’t so sure.

“I can try and dock three in the centre compartment, John, is the docking station online?”

Alan gestured to the hologram of their brother, “Hey Johnny, you with us?”

His picture blinked.

With growing dread, Scott turned down to his communicator. John’s absence had the air of something that had happened before, a certain recklessness that he reserved for one person only.

“Virgil,” Scott asked, “are you able to contact John?”

The following pause was silent. Neither Alan or Scott broke the tension in the air.

“Negative Thunderbird Three, it looks like he’s playing a relay of the same image,” Virgil replied, “Is everything ok up there?”

“We’re fine, stick to your comms.”

The rocket stayed quiet for a moment. After a long week of nothingness, the last thing they need was a complex rescue. None of them had time to shake off the fog of relaxation. It was a dangerous combination and Scott didn’t like it one bit.

“Uh, Scott?” Alan prodded, “two things. One, we’re docked with Orion, I wasn’t sure you noticed…”

“And two?”

“I found John.”

Scott turned his gaze past the dashboard, where, attached to _Orion’s_ core module, John hung. A bag, no…a body, was draped over his shoulder.

He gestured to his comms, knowing the red-headed astronaut could see him.

“I had to get her out of there Scott, the oxygen-level couldn’t be maintained remotely. Anyway, it’s not far from five. I’ll take her in the space pod and warm her up.”

“FAB,” Alan chimed.

Scott stirred, remembering that his youngest brother sat beside him.

“We’ll talk about this later. Alan, I’m going to try and stabilize the control system onboard, take Thunderbird Three and give John and Ridley a lift.”

“But that will leave you alone,” Alan frowned, “on the ship with no oxygen.”

Scott shrugged, “It will only be temporary. As John said, we’re not far from Five - make sure Ridley’s safe then circle back for me.”

“Are you sure…”

“That’s an order Alan, see you soon.”

Scott descended through the spaceport, unphased as Three left her dock.

The inside of _Orion_ was equally as impressive as the ships façade. Two copper doors flanked the command centre, itself containing more gold plating than Grandma Tracy’s best plates. A solitary wire marked the path to an emergency beacon, which, much to his surprise, had retained its red hue.

“Scott, are you there? I’ve dropped John and Ridley back at Five, coming back around to you now.”

Thunderbird Three was too fast, he’d barely even begun looking for the problem -

“Shit.”

A monotonous beep leered from his suit. The pressure in the room had increased twofold, the beacon shattered, Scott slammed on his comms.

“Alan, do not dock with _Orion_ , the station is unstable – it’s going to blow.”

He knew his suit couldn’t sustain this pressure for long, at best he had two minutes, maybe three.

A crack appeared on his visor, followed by another. Space was digging in her claws.

Suddenly, the noise of the ship was all around him. The faint, subsonic, rumble of high-tech thrusters was a familiar sound, not unlike Thunderbird One. But here, in space, it wasn’t right.

Another crack – longer, deeper.

“Virgil, Virg. Thunderbird Two do you come in?”

Scott fumbled with his comm. Something, an invisible force, had tied his limbs to the sides of his body.

Another crack – his muscles cramped.

“No need for the formalities, big bro. What’s up?”

“I need you to listen very carefully.”

“What do you mean, is everything ok?” Worry laced Virgil’s reply.

“Just listen. Please,” Scott squeezed his eyes shut, “there is a note under my mattress, you’ll need to read it. Also, Virgil, this wasn’t anyone’s…”

Between the sound of the explosion and his mask shattering, Scott stopped feeling pain.

It was weightlessness he’d never experienced, not even during his visits to Five. John, oh God, was John ok? What about Alan? Was he watching? What would Gordon think?

Virgil would help them get through this, he was strong, Scott trusted him. 

-

In the end, with the last of his vision, a familiar face flicked above his.

Why did it seem so warm?

Why was he so cold?

_I’ve got you, my baby boy. Let’s go home._


	2. The Unthinkable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. Major emotional turmoil and character death.
> 
> I'm unsure if I'll continue with this fic, purely because I have no clue where this horrible, painful idea came from. I love Scott, so might direct my time to something happier. 
> 
> You've been warned.

Alan was spinning.

The _Orion_ had exploded, knocking Thunderbird Three into a blanket of stars. Her new course, unplanned and unpredictable, looked as muddled as Alan felt.

What was he doing? Why was there shrapnel scratching his ‘bird?

_That’s right. Scott._

He reached for the stabilizer, triggering the thrusters into horizontal flight. Ahead of him, fire tainted the night, it’s power magnified by pieces of gold. A single compartment of the _Orion_ remained in-tact. The middle section, Alan realised, where Scott had been.

“Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Three, Alan, do you copy?”

Alan tore his eyes from the wreck, turning his focus to the dashboard, “I’m here, John. Have you heard from Scott, is he ok? I was so close to making it back, but it exploded, I – I didn’t even have time to dock.”

The slight slant in John’s eyebrows made Alan worry. He was distressed. It was a tell he’d had his entire life but constantly shook off as just being focused. His brothers knew the truth though when red eyebrows were furrowed, the star communicator had lost the ability to communicate. In this case, with Scott.

“I can’t reach him,” he replied, “Five’s scans are showing no life signs from the remaining compartment, I’m going to send the space elevator down for Virgil – don’t go anywhere, Alan.”

“But John…”

“I mean it. We don’t know what we’re going to find in there,” he warned.

Alan gulped. Scott was going to be fine, heck, he couldn’t even begin to fathom Scott not being perfectly ok. Every year, when the colder months hit Tracy Island, Scott was there to bring him soup and soothe his fevers. The warm, aromatic, soup definitely didn’t come from Grandma’s kitchen. It must have been brought from the mainland, a long trip to make for something so simple.

Yet, his older brother never blinked an eye.

In front of him, Thunderbird Five was emerging from the darkness, it’s elevator locked in tight. No doubt Virgil, always level-headed and calm, wasn’t thinking of the worst-case scenario. They’d probably be back together tonight, eating burnt lasagne and questioning the GDF’s poor design choices.

“I’m here little brother,” Virgil called over his comm, “I need you to dock with Thunderbird Five and wait with John. I’ll take the pod out and grab Scott.”

Alan groaned, “but I’ve already docked with Five today, let me go and get Scott – I’m better in space, it’ll be faster.”

“Not this time, Alan,” John replied.

Thunderbird Three announced her disapproval as Alan launched her forward. He would have to check her exterior for damage, no doubt the _Orion’s_ golden shards had lodged themselves in places they shouldn’t be.

“FAB,” he resigned, “docking with Five now.”

The space pod speed past, disappearing into the impact zone. Alan had a feeling that, even though he was more adept in space, Virgil would handle whatever had happened to Scott better. His brothers were just trying to protect him, no amount of arguing would change that.

“Are you ok, Alan? Are you hurt?” John reached for him, pulling Alan into his chest. It was an unusual sensation, being hugged by someone who detested human contact, but simultaneously very warm. Gordon would be jealous – he’d been failing to hug John for years.

“I’m ok, just a little dizzy from the explosion.”

The older astronaut narrowed his turquoise eyes, moving to pull Alan towards the medical bay. Virgil was the medic, but John was smart. He didn’t doubt that Ridley had already endured every check imaginable.

“I’m fine John, honestly. Can we just focus on Virgil and Scott? I’m not a child anymore, I want to know.”

“Up here,” John led him through a hatch into the hospital-smelling room. In the corner, Ridley was propped up on a gurney.

“And you deserve to know,” he finally responded to Alan’s question, gesturing towards the main screen where live footage was being streamed from Virgil’s suit.

Alan frowned, “is he in the central compartment? I can’t see anything, it’s too dark?”

“Me neither,” John replied, “Virgil, what’s your status?”

A foreboding cocktail of silence and darkness stared back at them.

“Virgil? Virgil?”

John’s tone made Alan wince. He’d heard it before when rescue’s had gone wayward and his brothers were momentarily lost. But those were just moments, always fleeting and never permanent. So, why did this one feel so different?

Suddenly, a muffle, followed by the grating of metal, stung Alan’s ears. He watched Ridley close her eye’s, no doubt trying to conceal a head injury that was amplified by the sound.

“I found Scott.”

Alan breathed, thank God. At some point, he’d been pulled to John’s chest one again. One hug was unprecedented, but _two?_ John’s anxiety must have reached a different level entirely.

“Can you hear me, Scott? I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you. How about I eat your portion of Grandma’s cooking tonight and we’ll call it even?”

Another muffled noise escaped the comm – John tightened his grip.

“Alan…”

“I mean I’ll even eat her cookies, if they make me sick you can buy some of that soup…”

“Alan, Scott can’t hear you.”

Virgil’s voice was crackling now, like water hitting rocks. It didn’t suit him; it wasn’t tranquil or soothing in the slightest.

“Is the comm broken, John? Why does Virgil sound like that?”

He could feel John’s breathing slow, no longer rustling in his hair.

“I think he might be…crying.”

“Virgil doesn’t cry, the space junk must just be messing with the connection – I’ve seen it before. If we just…”

“It’s not the wreckage,” Virgil reappeared, “I don’t want either of you to see this, but, but Scott’s not coming back. He’s gone.”

 _Gone._ What did that mean? Had he escaped the blast, had Virgil lost him already? The compartment wasn’t that big.

“Can you find him?” Alan squeaked.

John’s hand moved to his head, crushing Alan’s face against his chest. He tried to wriggle out, to turn his attention back to the blank screen, but the grip was too tight.

_What was happening? Why was John hugging him again?_

“He’s not lost,” John was trying to be as gentle as possible, but couldn’t hide the anguish in his tone, “Scott’s dead, Alan. That’s what Virgil’s trying to say.”

Dead? _Dead._

Both brothers fell to the ground. Alan screamed. Scott couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t die. Dying was for movies and the make-believe war games he’d once played with Gordon. Not real life.

“Can you retrieve his body?” He heard John mutter.

“There isn’t a body, John,” Virgil replied.

 _No body_. Scott didn’t have a body.

He was dead.

_Dead._

His brother was dead.


End file.
